


It's His Hands

by SomethingSomeoneSaidOnce



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hopefully not too OOC Sherlock, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, So much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:49:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2908259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomethingSomeoneSaidOnce/pseuds/SomethingSomeoneSaidOnce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not incapable of love, he just doesn't understand how it works. Or why it hurts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's His Hands

I’ve been watching him.

Going out to to that woman’s flat every other night. Coming back with his clothing rumpled and a small smile that he thinks I don’t understand. Of course I know what it’s all about. Sex. And possibly love.

I’m not an expert on love. Or at least I never used to be. I never used to understand what it was like to watch someone you love with someone else. Love songs make sense now. They shouldn’t. I have no connection to them what so ever. And yet they say so perfectly what I can not.

“John.” I’ll start with his name every time.

Then he turns around and smiles at me. “What?”

“I” Can’t do It “Need you to get some more milk on the way home.”

“Why? We have about 8 bottles!”

“I want to try something with it.”

Then he just looks at me like he’ll never understand me and walks out the door.

And then I’ll have to find a way to get rid of 8 bottles of milk. Thankfully that takes my mind off him for the afternoon.

________________________________

“What the hell is this mess?”

“Butter.” It was the only thing I could think of.  
“You could have just asked me to buy butter and not ruined the carpet!” John sets the new milk on the table. He buries his face in his hands for a moment. Such hard hands. Calloused and worn. Beautiful.

“Are you going to clean it up?” He asks

“Probably, at some point.” I can’t look at him. I pick up my violin.

“Sherlock!” He’s always exasperated about something. “I’m not going to do it so you can do it by your – yes ok I’ll do it.” And then he gets a mop.

_________________________________

Lying in bed at night used to be a good time to think. Now when I do all I can think about are those hands. Sliding under my back. Lifting me up, as his mouth finds mine. His tongue would travel down my body, making circles on my skin-

And then the real John walks in through the front door. He’ll be stumbling slightly in the dark and probably humming some stupid tune. I can just imagine that small smile on his face as he tries to hide the fact that he just fucked that woman out of her brains.

It shouldn’t be an image that I want in my head, but somehow…It’s those hands again. In my head. Massaging not her nipples, but mine now. I arc up to meet him, John, my John. And find nothing.

__________________________________

When I’m sure he’s asleep I walk out and sit on the sofa. It’s colder out here. And dark except for the streetlights shining in. Peaceful I suppose. I try to zone out, to think of nothing. It never works.

I imagine him again. His lips on mine, and his hands, oh those hands, running down my back, stroking my thighs and I have to bite my lip. It doesn’t work though. I can feel him there, whispering sweet nothings into my ears and kissing his way down my throat and down my stomach. I can’t help myself. I bite my lips and imagine it’s his hands that slowly remove my pants and start to stroke my cock, hard and heavy. I can almost hear his voice whispering my name in my ears. I’m panting but I refuse to call out. Until the real John is here touching me like this I refuse to call out.

Suddenly it happens. Just like every other time, just before the moment of release, the fantasy disappears and it’s just me sitting alone on the sofa pathetically touching myself to the image of my best friend.

And then I’m finished.

_________________________________

Alone, always alone.

By myself in the dark, I can feel the tears spilling unwanted from my eyes. I’m blinking, but it doesn’t help. Instead I’m sobbing pathetically in the dark. Just like always.


End file.
